Breaking Rituals
by Dalliance
Summary: I guess it’s just that under all the layers of annoyance he’s causing me, there’s one of concern. Onesided Stendy, minor Style. Kyle's POV.


First attempt at serious writing in quite a while. I can't guarantee when this will be updated.

South Park and characters are not mine.

* * *

And my final conclusion was… I don't get it.

I'd watched them for years. It started at the same time high school did. Every day, more and more paired off and began their soon-to-be regular ritual of holding hands in the hallways, sitting next to each other at lunch, and asking to be excused from class for a few minutes on a 'bathroom break' so they could meet up and kiss by the lockers.

Every day, more and more of my friends from elementary school were lost to the metaphorical sinkhole that was "The Relationship."

Of course, Stan had been the first. That started way before any of the others had, all the way back in third grade, back when some of us couldn't even spell the word 'relationship'. That had been different, though... he'd still spent almost all of his time with us, only occasionally talking to her during recess. The only thing that really made them a couple was, well, the fact that they said they were.

But it was so much different now.

Stan and Wendy had broken off early in fifth grade, simply because they were bored of it. To Wendy, it had really just been a game. Something for fun, and something she could brag to the other girls about. To Stan, it had been a bit more than that... he moped around for about a month afterwards, but he did eventually get over it. And by 'it', I mean their relationship. I don't mean _her_.

Which brings me back to my current situation.

I don't get it.

Every day, it was just Wendy this, Wendy that. Oh wow, Kyle, did you see what Wendy was wearing today? You know, Kyle, I really think she likes me! And now matter how many times he said it, I still failed to understand exactly what was so goddamn important about the whole thing in general. Wow, you like her. You think she likes you. I can summarize the exact situation in less than ten words; I don't understand why he can't do the same. Instead, he finds the need to talk about her _every single day_, using _every single word possible_. I swear, that guy must spend half his time reading a Thesaurus with all the new words he comes up with to express his undying love.

... I feel like an asshole.

Which is exactly why I'd never say any of this to him. In fact, the mask I put on is a fully supportive one. I smile and encourage him when he says he thinks he saw her looking at him during lunch, I laugh with him when he tells me about the great conversation they had during science class.

I was his shoulder to cry on when the whole situation where he was too scared to ask her out became too much. He really does love her.

And as a best friend, I have certain obligations to be fully supportive and not express my opinion unless it's a positive one when the topic of romance comes up. And on one hand, I'm okay with it. Sure, his constant chatter about the opposite sex royally pisses me off sometimes, but I can deal. I'm pretty tolerant of most things (unless they involve Cartman). But on the other hand, I'm kind of hurt by the fact that the only things he talks about nowadays are her, and sports. I guess I should be happy he's talking to me at all, him being Mr. Star Quarterback and me being the straight-A teacher's-pet tiny-enough-that-I-get-shoved-out-of-the-way-multiple-times-daily Jewish kid. But is it really that hard to put a 'how are you' after the 'hello'?

I really shouldn't be complaining like this. I know how much he cares about me. I guess it's just that under all the layers of annoyance he's causing me, there's one of concern… Because I know how upset he got that day in fourth grade when Wendy dumped him, and I know if he gets rejected now (that is, if he ever works up the nerve to actually ask her out) it'll be a thousand times harder on him. Being a teenager seems to amplify all negative emotions. Hormones, I guess.

There are so many things I want right now. I want him to get over her and start paying attention to the rest of life again. I want to figure out what the big deal is with all this relationship crap, and whether I'm missing out on something huge or not.

I don't want him to get hurt.

But after all these wants, there's only one _need_.

I _need_ to start paying attention to what the teacher's saying.

I blinked twice, brushing a couple stray red curls out of my face before looking up at the teacher. She was standing right in front of my desk, wedged between that and the seat of the person in front of me, who was visibly cringing at the woman's backside being so close to his face. Although, I would've chosen his position over mine; as it was, she was staring right at me, an expectant and at the same time spiteful look on her face. I swear, if it weren't for those half-moon glasses blocking the way, the lady's eyes would be burning holes through my skin. I'd clearly missed something.

"Well, Kyle?"

"Um... Indonesia, right?" I sputtered out, barely knowing what the original question was. But some part of my subconscious must have been paying attention, because she gave me an approving nod, before turning and resuming her spot at the front of the class. Crisis narrowly averted. After all, this was the only class that I wasn't doing so great in... and by 'not so great', I mean I didn't have an A in it yet; which for me was a problem, since I knew I had the ability to get perfect marks in every class. She was a pretty hard marker though, and her habit of questioning any kid that appeared to be daydreaming – like what she'd just done, only seconds ago – ended up ruining a lot of people's grades, even if they worked really hard and got good marks on tests. She counted _everything_, and I swear, she'd lowered a couple people's marks just because she didn't like them. All of these things caused problems for me.

At least I don't think my mother will be too upset if I bring home a B in geography. It doesn't seem like a subject she cares too much about.

After a few more rounds of the teacher harassing students that weren't paying attention and writing questions on the board that really didn't have anything to do with what we were currently studying, the bell rang, letting us out for the day. Since the teacher was always the first person out of the room for this class, most of the students hung around for a while afterwards, chatting and taking insane amounts of time to get their books back together and make their way out to the lockers. I, however, didn't have anything keeping me in this room. I only had one target. Picking up my binder and textbooks and holding them tightly to my chest, I hurry out of the classroom almost right behind the teacher (her way of saying goodbye is shooting another glare at me), and... walk right into said 'target'.

Apparently Stan's class had been let out a bit early today.

"Kyle! Oh my god, you wouldn't believe what happened in class today. _Such_ a funny story."

God, you wouldn't know he was on nearly every sports team in school, with how girly he sounds.

We start walking towards the cafeteria, since we'd decided at lunch that we were going to chill there for a while after school and start on that science project, and he tells me his story. Apparently Craig had flipped off the teacher, the teacher had actually returned the gesture, and then the entire class got into a massive discussion about the proper way to flip the bird for maximum "fuck you" effectiveness. I really wish I were in that class instead of geography last period.

At one point we separate for a few minutes, to visit our respective lockers and grab the books and notepads we'll need. His locker isn't too far from mine, but it's still far enough away that we have to either yell to hear each other or temporarily pause the conversation. We choose the latter.

Kenny's locker is right beside mine. We've kind of drifted apart over the years, and not having any classes together this year hasn't really helped that. I guess I've gotten a bit antisocial too, preferring to stick by the side of my best friend and not talk to many other people. Sure, if they say hi, I'll say hi back, and if they talk I'll listen, but I'm never the one to initiate the conversation.

Kenny was, at the moment, trying to shove more junk into his locker, which could barely close as it was. I can't blame him, though... most of the things he brought home would end up getting taken by his siblings or parents, who could find uses for even scrap pieces of paper. The amount of money the government was willing to give them was wearing thin, and even with the jobs that Kenny and his older brother had managed to get, it was still barely enough to keep them from dying of starvation. I honestly felt sorry for the McCormick kids… they didn't keep any of the money for themselves, except for what they bought food with, and their parents spent the rest on alcohol. What's worse is that they all _know_ that their parents will spend it irresponsibly, but they give it to them anyways just because they're their parents. I'd tried to give Kenny some cash to spend on himself one day, because my family was overflowing with it and it was awful seeing one of your friends nearly starve to death and have to recycle the same two outfits all week, but he'd refused it. Said that just because the rest of his family was a charity case, didn't mean that he needed to be, too. I didn't argue. I did, however, give a few hundred bucks to the main cafeteria worker, who now makes sure Kenny gets a full-course lunch for free every day. I don't know if he knows it was me who set that up or not, but that look he gets when he gets handed his tray of food every day really shows how grateful he is. It's funny how much a simple meal can mean to someone who can't afford it on their own.

I see a couple sheets of paper slip out of the binder he's got tucked under one arm. Apparently he's too busy trying to kick his locker shut to notice, so I pick them up and wave them in his face.

"You dropped these."

He blinks, one foot still propped up against the metal door. He quickly slips the lock back on, making sure the locker doesn't fly open again, before taking the papers from me and mumbling a barely-intelligible 'thank you'. Normally he'd start talking to me before doing anything else, leaving the locker battle until last, which leaves me to assume he's not having a great day. I won't ask him about it unless he says something.

He doesn't, instead cramming the papers I'd handed him back into their binder, giving the locker one last kick for good measure, and storming down the hallway that leads to the closest way out. I might ask Stan if he's noticed anything with him today, I know they've got at least one class together.

After watching Kenny make his grand exit (I wouldn't be surprised if the fact that the main school doors won't slam got him even more upset), I quickly open my locker and grab the required notepads from inside it, my oversized geography textbook taking their place, and wander back over to where Stan is. He's kneeling on the floor in front of his locker, chatting it up on his cell phone with someone. The poorly masked, shy-but-excited grin on his face screams 'Wendy'. I slide down to the floor beside him, notebooks moved to a temporary location on my lap, and pretend I'm not listening intently to the rest of his conversation.

".. yeah, yeah, that really sounds like fun. What time did you say it was?"

I assume she responds in this time, while Stan absentmindedly drags books out of his (messy, but not nearing the point that I have to initiate an intervention) locker. I'm not sure he even knows which books he's taking out; he's so caught up in this conversation with his long-time crush.

"Twenty minutes? Oh, damn, I was supposed to work on a project…"

This has me concerned. I know he wouldn't ditch me for her. Never. But the fact that he was clearly invited to something means he's going to be completely distracted during our project time, thinking about what she might be doing without him, what her friends are saying... ugh, this is a losing situation no matter how I look at it.

A few more exchanged sentences and a couple of cutesy goodbyes at the end, and Stan closes his phone once more, tucking it into one of the pockets of his jeans before hesitantly looking at me with a somewhat ashamed expression. I let my back fall against the locker behind me with an exasperated sigh, staring at him with an expression that I hope comes across as "I'm not at all amused, and you _should_ feel guilty for it." It's clear that he does.

"Um, Kyle, Wendy just asked me if I wanted to go meet her and some other friends at Harbucks for a while, before going to one of their houses for a movie..."

I blink slowly, thinking this over. Huh. I was almost sure it was gonna be a party. I'm not sure if an intimate get-together is better or worse than that.

"... And? We were kind of supposed to spend this time working on our project. I don't want to have to rush it last-minute." I'm whining, I know. But it was true. I swear, I wasn't saying this just because I wanted him to spend time with me and not her.

"I know, but… it would be fun, and she said you could come too."

That pleading whimper that I hate and yet am oh-so susceptible to was creeping into his voice. I start thinking to myself, "Yeah, like the fact that I was also invited is going to change my opinion," but I soon after realize that... yeah, it totally did. I would still rather be working on our science project, but I guess hanging out with Wendy and her friends wouldn't be so bad, as long as they aren't all girls (which I knew they weren't; the only girl I ever see Wendy with nowadays was Bebe. Honestly, I'm not sure why Bebe was an exception, Wendy wasn't into the whole 'girly' thing... but I guess opposites attract in a few special cases. I can relate), and as long as whatever movie they decided on for afterwards wasn't a crappy one.

I pause for a moment, just to make Stan squirm, before finally giving a dramatic sigh. "Yeah, I guess we can go. But next week we _have_ to start on this science project."

His pouty expression quickly peels back into a grin, and I already regret my decision. But oh well. It's all for him, I guess. He crams the science books back into his locker, shutting it and standing up again. I follow suite, and soon he's dragging me out the front door and along the quickest route to Harbucks, despite the fact that we have a good fifteen minutes to spare.

Wow, I can't wait.


End file.
